you the hell out.
"Alright. Do you think hours or days?" I asked, feeling sick at the idea of her being in the hands of some lunatic for that long.
"I don't know. I don't think days."
"Okay," I said, looking around, seeing McCoy moving into the room, brows furrowed. "I'm heading back. See if I can motivate him."
"Okay," Seeley said, sounding relieved to have some help with the eccentric techie.
"What's going on?" McCoy asked.
"Two different issues," I told him. "Our drive-by assholes. And Harmon's stalker. Or so Arty says."
"Alright. So what's the plan?"
"I need you to stay here, make sure shit gets taken care of correctly. Make sure this shit doesn't link back to us in any way that can be proved."
"Got it," he agreed.
"Once you are satisfied, meet me back at the clubhouse. Hopefully by then, Arty will have another direction to send us in."
"Got it," he agreed, nodding. "McCoy," I called, making him turn back, brow raised.
"I appreciate you being on your game even when I'm off mine."
"That's what I'm here for," he said, shrugging, moving to head downstairs to help Remy end the rest of the guys we had rounded up.
With that, trusting my crew, I made my way out front, got on my bike, and headed back toward the clubhouse.
I made a stop along the way, loading up on a bag full of energy drinks, avoiding the side-eye from the cashier when I handed over cash with my makeshift bandaged hand.
"You need to clean that," Seeley demanded after I got back, handing Arty his drinks, watching over his shoulders, he switched through screens so fast that I felt nauseated.
"Yeah, I agreed, moving into the bathroom, pulling off the bandage, seeing a glint of glass that was still lodged in the fleshy bit between my thumb and pointer finger. "Burn this," I demanded, tossing the rag at Seeley.
By the time I cleaned up and got some butterfly bandages on my cuts, Seeley was back in the master bedroom, tossing the flashlight thing around in his hands.
"What are you thinking?"
"Just trying to remember something, anything about the attack at her house. All I have are holes."
"You have a fucking concussion, kid. No one expects you to remember what happened."
"I could have prevented all of this."
"You took a bullet and then a whack to the head over all this shit. No one is asking you for more than that. You've more than earned your badge through all this shit. We will get on that when things settle back down."
"Yeah?" he asked, brightening slightly. "It hasn't been the full two years you told me."
"Fuck formalities. Who is going to give a shit if you get in early? You can be in charge of all the whip-cracking when we get some new prospects someday."
"I don't know what-"
"Got you," Arty's voice interrupted, making my pulse jump.
"You got him?" I asked.
"Almost. I just need to trace this IP address," Arty said.
"Will that give you an address?"
"It will give me a close geolocation. Then we can narrow it down."
"How?"
"Against her closest fans," Arty said. "I have a list."
"She complained about some asshole named Patrick," I said. "Why no?" I asked when he started shaking his head.
"Patrick's real name is Jeff and he's a sixty-year-old retired librarian in Montana with a bad knee."
It was moments like this that I wondered how the hell he got the information he got as fast as he did.
I was sure it had a lot to do with not sleeping and enough caffeine to jumpstart an elephant.
"Okay," I agreed. "But you have a list?"
"Top ten most likely based on activity. Gotta narrow it down by location."
"Need anything from me?"
"To stop breathing down my neck," he suggested, making me let out a surprised laugh before I moved out of the room, heading downstairs, feeling completely fucking useless.
"What can I do?" Seeley asked.
"Get Booker on the phone and tell him I don't give a flying fuck what else he has on his schedule, that he is getting his ass over here tonight or tomorrow, and getting this place wired up."
"Word for word?" Seeley asked, lips twitching.
"Yeah, word for fucking word. Then after that, the fence people. After that, figure out what other shit we should be doing around here to make it a fortress. This shit is never fucking happening again," I told him, moving out into the backyard, pacing along the pavement around the pool, feeling completely useless as I waited for Arty to work his magic.
About half an hour later, I could